Chap­ter 24: Duck Boy opens with the arrival of Paper’s renowned sweet pota­to pie, which serves as the focal point for a gath­er­ing of Nate, Addie, Rusty, Fat­ty, and Miggy, who arrives late after work at Pennhurst. Miggy, with her pro­fes­sion­al demeanor, con­trasts sharply with her past life on Hem­lock Row, imme­di­ate­ly estab­lish­ing a bond with Nate. Their light ban­ter sets the stage for a deep­er con­ver­sa­tion, and as the evening pro­gress­es, Miggy opens up about her life and her work at the hos­pi­tal. She describes her role as a “clean­er” not only in the phys­i­cal sense but also emo­tion­al­ly, espe­cial­ly when it comes to the male patients she cares for. The weight of her job becomes clear as she shares the emo­tion­al toll it takes on her, as she wit­ness­es first­hand the suf­fer­ing and despair of the peo­ple she tries to help.

While their con­ver­sa­tion remains light-heart­ed for a time, the under­ly­ing grav­i­ty of Miggy’s expe­ri­ences at Pennhurst soon emerges. She begins to recount the trag­ic sto­ries of the patients, shar­ing accounts of neglect, fear, and abuse that have marked their lives. One of the most haunt­ing sto­ries she tells is that of a boy known as “Duck Boy,” a patient who quacked instead of speak­ing, his speech dis­abil­i­ty a result of the hor­rif­ic mis­treat­ment he endured. Miggy reveals the trag­ic details of Duck Boy’s life, high­light­ing how he was sub­ject­ed to harsh treat­ment and even­tu­al­ly placed in the noto­ri­ous C‑1 ward, a place known for its bru­tal con­di­tions. Through her words, the suf­fer­ing of the patients becomes more than just statistics—it becomes a reflec­tion of the deeply flawed sys­tem that gov­erns their care. Miggy’s empa­thy for these indi­vid­u­als is pal­pa­ble, as she vows to hon­or their spir­its and seeks jus­tice for their tor­ment. Her anger toward the cor­rupt atten­dants, par­tic­u­lar­ly a man known as Son of Man, is evi­dent as she speaks about the oppres­sive envi­ron­ment the patients face on a dai­ly basis.

As Miggy con­tin­ues her sto­ry, she delves deep­er into the phys­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal con­tra­dic­tions of the space where the patients are con­fined. The hos­pi­tal, while phys­i­cal­ly impos­ing and intim­i­dat­ing, becomes a sym­bol of the men­tal and emo­tion­al anguish endured by its inhab­i­tants. Miggy’s reflec­tion on the lack of care and the deep psy­cho­log­i­cal tor­ment faced by the chil­dren she works with shows her yearn­ing for a solu­tion, for jus­tice to be served not only for her­self but for the vul­ner­a­ble souls trapped with­in Pennhurst. Her mind often returns to the case of a young boy who dis­ap­peared from the insti­tu­tion, and she won­ders if he found a way to escape through the mys­te­ri­ous tun­nels that are rumored to run beneath the facil­i­ty. These tun­nels, she believes, sym­bol­ize a path­way to free­dom, offer­ing a glim­mer of hope for those des­per­ate to flee the hell­ish exis­tence they are trapped in. The notion of escape is a bea­con of pos­si­bil­i­ty, a dream that sus­tains her in her oth­er­wise bleak real­i­ty.

The con­ver­sa­tion then shifts to the strange but con­sis­tent fig­ure of the “Egg Man,” a man who brings eggs and cof­fee to the patients every morn­ing. While this small act of kind­ness stands out against the insti­tu­tion­al absur­di­ty of Pennhurst, it also high­lights the logis­ti­cal odd­i­ties of the hos­pi­tal sys­tem. The patients’ dai­ly lives, marked by rou­tine and neglect, are punc­tu­at­ed by this man’s pres­ence, which, though seem­ing­ly insignif­i­cant, offers a rare moment of com­fort in their oth­er­wise dehu­man­iz­ing exis­tence. This dis­cus­sion about the Egg Man adds a sur­re­al lay­er to the oth­er­wise grim nar­ra­tive, rein­forc­ing the dis­ori­ent­ing con­tra­dic­tions that define life at the insti­tu­tion. As the chap­ter nears its end, the ten­sion ris­es as Miggy brings up Son of Man again, empha­siz­ing the ongo­ing pres­ence of the sin­is­ter fig­ure who con­tin­ues to exert con­trol over the patients’ lives. His influ­ence, and the sys­temic fail­ures that allow such abus­es to con­tin­ue, cast a long shad­ow over every­thing, from the patients’ dai­ly rou­tines to the emo­tion­al toll it takes on the peo­ple who work there.

The chap­ter con­cludes with Nate, who has been qui­et­ly absorb­ing the weight of Miggy’s words, left to con­tem­plate the invis­i­ble scars car­ried by the peo­ple trapped with­in Pennhurst’s walls. His silent reflec­tion cap­tures the emo­tion­al depth of the nar­ra­tive, and the chapter’s final image of the sweet pota­to pie, a sym­bol of com­mu­nal hope and con­nec­tion, sub­tly rein­forces the theme of uni­ty amidst suf­fer­ing. The pie, shared among the group, stands in stark con­trast to the hor­rors that Miggy and the patients face, sym­bol­iz­ing a flick­er of warmth and human con­nec­tion in the oth­er­wise cold and oppres­sive envi­ron­ment. As the chap­ter clos­es, the read­er is left to con­sid­er the pro­found emo­tion­al toll of such a place, where indi­vid­u­als are caught in an unend­ing cycle of neglect and abuse, and the haunt­ing ques­tion of whether true jus­tice will ever come for those who have suf­fered there.